Square One
by Okat
Summary: This story picks up where "What You Leave Behind" left off .
1. Default Chapter

CHAPTER I  
"Jake Sisko, we are not having this conversation." Kasidy Yates-Sisko whirled around to face her step-son, who was hovering behind her. Jake stood with his hands on his hips and a set expression on his face that reminded her of his father. "Now I am going and that's final." She elbowed her way past him and into her bedroom, where an open suitcase lay waiting on her bed. Jake followed.  
  
"But Kass..." he persisted.  
  
"No buts !"   
  
Jake sighed and leaned against the doorframe. He watched in silence as Kasidy rummaged through a drawer, picking out clothes and then throwing them on the bed beside the suitcase. Her movements were stiff and angry. One shirt fell to the floor. Jake recognised it as one of his father's, and he felt a pang of sadness. He bent to pick it up, but Kasidy snatched it out of his grasp and shoved it back into the drawer, which she closed forcefully. She then turned and began systematically folding the clothes and placing them in her bag. Jake watched.  
  
Abruptly she stopped folding and faced him. "I know you're only doing this because it's what Ben would do if he were here." Jake still said nothing, he stared darkly at the floor, not meeting her eyes. "But eventually he would realise that I'm doing the right thing and stop pestering me." She said this gently, with even a touch of wry humour creeping into her tone.  
  
Jake shuffled his feet and shook his head before lifting his eyes from the floor. "So you're pregnant, and going off to play space cowboy is doing the right thing?" he asked bitterly.   
  
The shadows in his eyes disturbed Kasidy. She could tell he was in pain, but it seemed so deep that she didn't think there was anything she could do to help. She let out a breath. "Jake , first of all , Dr. Bashir told me that it was okay for me to go back to work, and that in light of recent events, it's really the best thing for me. You know, kind of like therapy."  
  
When Jake seemed unconvinced, she added, " He's a doctor, he knows about this sort of thing."   
  
Jake rolled his eyes. "I'm a writer," he muttered, "I don't have a clue."  
  
Kasidy was ignored his retort. "So you are still a writer, are you?" she countered, raising an eyebrow.   
  
Jake stood up. "What's that supposed to mean?" he asked, defensiveness evident in his voice.  
  
"It's just that I haven't seen you writing, that's all." She shrugged.  
Jake looked away, uncomfortable. "I'm...waiting."   
"Waiting?" Kasidy asked, puzzled. "Waiting for what?"   
"I don't know." Jake knew it sounded lame, but he didn't know what else to say. He hadn't been able to write a single word since his dad had... left. It seemed that whatever it was that had driven him to write before was now paralysed by his pain.   
  
Kasidy was shaking her head. "Jake, you can't put your life on hold like this. You gotta get on with it, take charge of things, otherwise, well..." She didn't know if she was getting through to him on not, he wasn't saying anything. Finally, he left.  
  
Kasidy sighed, and then turned around to continue packing. After finishing with her clothes, she dumped some toiletries from the top of her dresser into the bag and fastened it closed. She went out into the living room, where Jake was staring out the viewport, at the stars. She walked over and stood beside him,  
  
"Everything's going to be fine, Jake," Kasidy said reassuringly. "I'm only going for a few months, and I'll be back plenty of time before the baby gets here." She put a hand on his shoulder.  
"I know."  
"Walk me to the ship?"  
"Sure"  
  
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Julian Bashir stood in the crowded turbolift, fidgeting with impatience. He was late. When the 'lift finally reached his deck, he hurtled through the doors before they had time to completely open, and proceeded to hurry through the corridor to the docking ring. Damn Kira, he thought as he ran, I'm a doctor, not a welcoming committee. Yet that was exactly what he was doing. Starfleet had assigned two replacement officers for the senior staff, and Kira had assigned himself and Dax to get them settled in. Even though Kira was the station's commander, she felt that it should be someone from Starfleet to welcome the new crewmembers aboard, and since Bashir and Dax were the two highest ranking Starfleet officers on the station... . Bashir skidded to a halt beside the airlock, where Ezri was waiting, her hands folded serenely behind her back. The doctor's already racing heart skipped a beat when she turned to look at him, her smile brilliant. He thought he would never tire of that smile.   
  
"Sorry I'm late," he told her. "There was a scuffle on the Promenade, a few broken bones. Nothing serious though."  
Ezri shrugged. "That's okay, the ship is just getting in now." She gazed at him fondly, her blue eyes alight. "So, are we still on for dinner tonight?"  
  
Bashir looked into her eyes and took her hand, "Of course. I already told Vic we were coming, and it would break his heart if we didn't."  
  
She playfully snatched her hand back. "So it's Vic you're concerned about. All this time I thought it was me." She pouted, and turned away.   
  
Reclaiming her hand, Bashir suavely kissed Ezri's knuckles. "There has never been anyone else but you."   
Dax held his eyes with hers for a moment and then said, "This is the part where I throw myself into your arms and we kiss, right?" She giggled.  
"Of course not," Bashir answered, mock-seriously, releasing her hand and stepping back. "We're on duty." He straightened his uniform and came to attention. "And I am shocked and amazed that you would even think of such a thing, Lieutenant," he admonished, trying to keep a straight face.  
Ezri rolled her eyes. "Of course Doctor. Whatever was I--"  
Dax was interrupted by the airlock cycling open. About a dozen people in civilian clothes poured out, followed by two in Starfleet uniforms. One was a tall human male with blond hair, and the other was a Vulcan female who seemed to have an inordinate amount of luggage.   
Basir stepped forward. "Commander Lane, and Lieutenant T'Pren?" he asked, his eidetic memory supplying the names instantly. "Welcome to Deep Space Nine. I'm Doctor Julian Bashir and this is Lieutenant Ezri Dax, Station's Counsellor." The Vulcan nodded politely to each of them, betraying no expression but an enigmatic lift of an eyebrow. Commander Lane was more forward.  
  
"Good to meet you Doctor," he said, grasping Bashir's hand in what had to be the most painful handshake he'd ever experienced, genetically enhanced bones or not. Bashir smiled at the commander and tried not to wince too obviously. With one last squeeze, Lane released his hand and moved on to Ezri. "Dax, eh?" he said as they shook hands. "Do you know Jadzia Dax?"  
  
Ezri smiled tightly, "Jadzia was Dax's last host," she said politely, though it still rankled her to be asked that question. Lane merely grunted in response, looking thoughtful.  
There was a strained silence.   
  
"Well," said Bashir, "now that you've seen the docking ring, why don't we show you to your quarters." He held out hand, "This way, please." T'Prenn and Lane started off in that direction, the Vulcan not the least bit hampered by the two large cases she carried in addition to the standard Starfleet valise. Ezri and Bashir exchanged glances as they followed the two officers. Not exactly the best first contact situation, Bashir thought.  
  
They arrived at the Promenade without incident, Ezri providing a running commentary about the station and its peculiarities. T'Prenn appeared to listen, though she made no comment. Lane, on the other hand, did not even pretend to be interested in what Dax was saying. Instead he examined his surroundings critically, noting with disgust the gaudy kiosks and the somewhat shady characters who filtered in and out of Quark's.   
  
"It may look a little strange at first, but you'll get used to it," said Ezri, referring to the decidedly non-Federation style of DS9.  
"Actually I find the architecture quite fascinating." T'Prenn spoke for the first time. Her voice was quiet, with the faintest trace of an accent. She craned her neck to look at the swooping beams that formed the ceiling.  
  
"Well, it's butt-ugly, if you ask me," Lane snorted, his lip curling derisively. T'Prenn's neck snapped around and she pinned him with her black gaze.  
  
"I did not ask you," she hissed. Lane's eyes widened in shock, and he wilted under the force of her stare. For a moment, both Lane and T'Prenn were locked in soundless confrontation. . Ezri's mind raced as she tried to think of something to say to diffuse the situation, but before she do anything, Lane gave in.  
  
"Sorry," he croaked, and looked away. The electric silence that had gripped the air dissipated. Ezri and Bashir looked at each other; they would talk about this later. For now, though, it would be nice just to get T'Prenn and Lane to their respective quarters before someone got hurt.   
  
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Ten minutes later, Ezri leaned against the wall outside Lane's quarters, waiting for Julian to finish showing the commander around. She had already shown T'Prenn to her quarters which were, unfortunately, right next door. The Vulcan had politely listened to Ezri's this-is-the-replicator-here's-the-comm-system-if-you-need-anything spiel, and then, just as politely, kicked her out. Ezri had a bad feeling about this whole thing. There was something going on between Lane and T'Prenn that went deeper than their apparent mutal dislike.   
  
Bashir came out of Lane's quarters, his smile fading as soon as her crossed the threshold. "Well, that was fun," he said, walking towards Ezri.  
  
"Tell me about it," she answered as she fell into step beside him. "I hope they're not like this all the time."  
  
"Heaven forbid," Bashir said, rolling his eyes. "Otherwise, it'll be a rough few weeks."  
  
Ezri peered up at him, puzzled. "A few weeks?" she asked.  
  
"By then we'll either be used to it or they'll have killed each other," he told her. His comment earned him a gentle swat on the arm.  
  
"Not nice, Julian," she said. Inwardly, though, she wondered if Bashir was right.  
  



	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2  
  
Commander Lane did not bother to unpack. After Bashir left, he started for OPS. He had been on the station for a mere half an hour, and already he wanted to leave. Everything about the place made his skin crawl: the dark bulkheads, the Promeneade that was teeming with criminals, the proud Bajorans who walked as if they owned the place. And then there was T'Prenn. He could never have predicted her presence, and had he known there would have been little he could do. Theoretically, one could refuse a posting based on personal reasons, but it required a full disclosure and examination of those reasons. Lane was not eager to air that particularly dirty piece of laundry.  
  
That said, if he really wanted to leave, Lane could request a transfer, citing professional reasons. After all, he had had misgiving about this post from the beginning, but one does not question the collective wisdom of three admirals, especially the admiral who is also your mother. They'd pinned a medal on him for "exemplary service during wartime", and then sent him to DS9, all the while saying that it was a plum assignment, that he should be happy. Though the Station was hardly a backwater these days, it was not where most people pictured themselves in those solemn, earnest Academy fantasies. A first officer's position on a space station was little more than a glorified desk job.  
  
As the turbo-lift jolted its way to the operations centre, Lane felt his resolve growing. He was sure that once he explained everything to that Bajoran Colonel, she would understand and tell Starfleet they'd picked the wrong man for the job. He smiled as the lift jeked to a stop, and he began to stride purposefully toward the large double doors that he assumed led to the Colonel's office.  
  
"Sir?"  
  
Lane felt a polite tap on his arm. Looking down, he saw the pinkish face of a Ferengi Lieutenant looking up at him. From the apologetic expression on his face, Lane got the impression that the young man had been trying to get his attention for a while. "Can I do something for you, Lieutenant?" he asked, using his best "command" voice.  
  
"It's Lieutenant Nog sir,"said the Ferengi. "I just noticed you heading towards the Colonel's office, and I wanted to warn you sir. " He lowered his voice conspiratorily, " Now is probably not the best time to see her." Nog angled a wary glance at the office door, as if it explained everything.  
  
Despite the fact Nog appeared sincere, Lane was not to be deterred. He saw his goal in sight and he refused to back down just because some Ferengi thought he was doing him a favor. So he gave his best condescending smile, and said: "Thanks for the advice Lieutenant, but I think I can handle it". Lane turned and resumed his course to the office. As he mounted the steps and pressed the door panel, he thought he heard Nog mutter something about "hew-mons" but he couldn't be sure because the doors opened and he was treated to a long string of what could only be profanities.Lane almost drew back, but stepped into the office, if only because of his pride, and let the doors shut behind him.  
  
Inside the office was a hellish scene. PADDs were scattered in piles on every available surface, even the floor. Among the small mountains of PADDs were cups, and plates of half-finished food. There was a smell of panic in the air. Sitting amid the chaos, at the cluttered desk, was Colonel Kira who was, st the moment involved in an intense conversation with someone on the viewscreen. She did not appear to notice Lane, so the Commander just stood awkwardly by the door. He had the feeling that if he walked out now, she would probably never notice and then he could come back later and start things out in the right foot. However, that option required that he go out and face the Ferengi, and Lane was not about to do that.  
  
He let is eyes roam round the office, looking anywhere but at the irate Bajoran, who had launched another volley of profanities at the comm system. He took in the half-eaten meals and scattered PADDs with disgust. The small couch even looked as if it had been slept in. His mother had instilled in him a need for cleanliness and order, and it was becoming clear that the station could do little to satisfy that need. Lane was about to reach for what looked like a baseball left in the couch cushions, when he suddenly became aware that the shouting had stopped. Slowly, he turned. In the new silence it seemed as though he could hear the movements of every muscle and bone in his body.  
  
Colonel Kira was regarding him with an expression of such utter weariness, that for a moment Lane was transfixed by the hollowness of eyes and the determined set of her mouth, and her face, which seemed to reveal everything and nothing about her. It was only for a moment, though, and he managed to come to some semblance of attention.  
  
"Commander Stephan Lane, reporting for duty," he said, though that was not what he had meant to say at all.  
  
Something like relief passed over Kira's face. "Well, it's about time," she said, offering a wry smile. "I guess StarFleet hasn't forgotten about us after all. Have a seat."  
  
Lane wasn't exactly sure how he was supposed to handle the implied insult, so he just sat down.  
  
"I'm busy, and in a few moments, you will be too, so I'd like to skip the pleasantries and get right to it," she began, rummaging through the PADDs on her desk. "Due to Starfleet's anal retentive need to report on every insignificant thing that goes on around the station, I now have enough paper work to keep me busy at least until the afterlife. So I'm giving half of it to you." Kira ceremoniously placed a large pile of PADDs before him. "As well, you'll need to familiarise yourself with the day-to- day operations of both DS9 and the Defiant. I suggest you talk to Lieutenant Nog, he's the chief of Operations. You can meet everyone else at the staff meeting tomorrow. Any questions?"  
  
Lane shook his head. For some reason he couldn't form a coherent sentence. Kira was smiling at him politely, and it occurred to him that she might want him to leave. He stood up, and backed out, the PADDs in his arms. It wasn't until he was standing numbly in the turbolift when he realized that he'd forgotten to ask for a transfer.  
  
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End file.
